4. Vinnie

4

VINNIE

“I t’s done,” I say to my grandfather as soon as I sit down in the chair facing his desk in the morning.

“Yes, I got word.”

I keep my eyebrows fixed, resisting the urge to let them fly off my forehead.

Don’t show surprise.

Never show surprise to my grandfather. Of course he was watching me. I’d be a fool to think otherwise. That drone last night at Raven’s place? That was all him. When I texted him to call it off, it went away.

I toss the pinky ring on his desk. “Here’s your prize.”

He takes the ring, examines it. “What about the rest?”

I shake my head. “I’m not mutilating a dead body. I got the ring. Take your token. That’s it. I got it done, and I did it my way.”

He fiddles with the ring, a glint of something—oh God, I think it’s pride—in his eyes. “I have to hand it to you, Vincent. It was a good idea. You did your research, and you figured it out.” He puts the ring down and stares into my eyes. “But not everyone I assign to you is going to have a peanut allergy.”

“I’ll find another way.”

“You will also find,” he says, completely ignoring my comment, “that when you take care of it yourself, with no witnesses, you keep yourself much safer.”

“You’ve had plenty of witnesses over the years.”

He cocks his head. “And how would you know that? You haven’t been here.”

“My father’s an excellent resource,” I say. “He’s told me what I need to know.”

“Your father’s a fucking jailbird, Vinnie. A murderer.”

I can’t help it then. I let out a laughing scoff. “You know as well as I do that you’ve killed way more people than my father ever has. You also know that you could get him sprung in the next two minutes if you wanted to.”

He presses his lips together. “You think I have that kind of power?”

“I know you do.” I get to my feet. “You’ve told me yourself. The only reason my father’s rotting in a prison cell is because you’ve got some deal going with the McAllisters. Declan McAllister won’t give you peace unless my father’s rotting behind bars for killing his son. But how many people has he murdered? How many people did Miles McAllister murder before he was killed? It’s so fucking ironic.”

Grandfather frowns. “The thing about irony, Vincent, is that it often strikes when you least expect it, especially when you think you’ve gotten away with something. Just when you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security, the universe will crash down to remind you in the most surprising way that it never forgets.”

I’m quiet for a moment as I let my grandfather’s words sink in.

For a moment I’m not sure they even came out of his mouth.

“And has the universe forgotten everything you’ve done, Grandfather?” I ask.

Silence as I wait for him to respond.

Just when I think he’s going to completely ignore my question?—

“I don’t concern myself with the universe.”

“Then why did you make the comment?”

“Because”—he clears his throat—“you need to be ready for whatever happens. Because you need to have a plan for every contingency, just in case the universe decides to bite you in the ass. The more people you involve in your mission, the better chance that something will go awry.”

“So when you say you don’t concern yourself with the universe, you’re saying that never happens to you?”

He leers over the desk at me. “I’m saying, Vincent, that when it does happen to me, I take care of it. I have a plan in place for every eventuality.”

I sit back down and think for a moment. What could go wrong? The clerk at the hotel. The maid. Perhaps a camera caught me checking things out early this morning.

That’s unlikely, as I kept my face shielded at all times from any surveillance.

The same clerk I paid to give me the room key was also instructed to erase any surveillance tape.

Those are my only loose ends, and I’ve paid handsomely to tie them up neatly.

“Everything’s been taken care of,” I say, my tone sounding more confident than I actually feel.

“For your sake,” he says, “I hope it is. Because if it’s not?” He shakes his head. “This is all on you, Vincent. You’ll need to take care of anything if the universe decides to come calling.”

I regard my grandfather. For a man in his eighth decade, he’s in excellent shape. But his eyes betray him. Not just the wrinkles around them but their color. Once nearly black, they’re now faded like old leather. They hold a depth of stories, secrets carried through the years. In them, I see the weight of wisdom and a trace of sadness, witness to all he has seen and perhaps lost. Yet they remain windows to a soul that refuses to bow to the years. He has an act put on. The tough Mafia leader.

But he’s getting old, and he and I both know it. His men know it.

“You can trust me. You can trust me to get things done my own way.”

“Only time will tell on that, Vincent.” He looks down for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Don’t think for one second that I will ever forget your betrayal. That I’ll ever forget that you walked away from this family. That I’ll ever forget?—”

I stand. “And don’t think for one moment, Grandfather, that I will ever forget what you did to me. What you did to Michael. What you wanted to do to Falcon Bellamy. And that you’re allowing my father to rot in prison when you could get him sprung tomorrow. Don’t think for a moment that I’ll forget that you sold your own daughter into marriage.”

He scoffs. “I sold her to your father. He turned out to be a big disappointment.”

His response rings odd to me. I expected him to state the obvious—that if he hadn’t sold my mother off to my father, I wouldn’t exist. Neither would Savannah.

“Because he killed Miles McAllister?” I say. “Because he tried to save Savannah from the same fate as your own daughter?”

“Because he’s weak,” Grandfather says. “My only consolation is that my blood—” He closes his mouth abruptly.

“That your blood what?”

“My blood flows through your veins, Vincent. Don’t ever forget that.”

How I wish I could.

I rise, placing both of my hands on his desk. “How many other men and women have you violated, Grandfather? I can’t imagine you were faithful to my grandmother all those years.”

He says nothing.

Which tells me everything I need to know.

I regard him again. It’s eerie how much I resemble him. How I favor him and my mother, while Mikey and Savannah favor our father.

Genes are funny things.

I clear my throat. “You need to stop having me followed.”

“I’ll stop having you followed when I’m good and ready.” He scowls. “Did you really think some cheap rental car and cash would keep you undercover? Did you really think I wouldn’t know that you were with Raven Bellamy last night?”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

“It is when it interferes with my business. What if I had insisted that she be your target? What if I hadn’t reneged?”

“Then I would’ve left this family again.” I sink slowly into my chair. “I will not murder an innocent young woman. A woman who’s already been through hell and has never done anything to hurt this family.”

He smiles then—and in that moment, I can almost see scales forming on his skin. His tongue slithering out at me like a snake.

Maybe I’m the cobra, but he’s the King Cobra.

If he ever finds out how much I care for Raven…

Would he take her just to punish me?

Yes. He would do it without hesitation, which is why I left her last night. And why I can’t see her again.

She’ll haunt me until the day I die, but until I can get my grandfather out of the picture, we cannot be together.

“I will do my duty,” I tell him. “I’ll do the duty that Mikey couldn’t. I’ll do the duty in payment for Savannah’s freedom. For my mother. But I will only do it if you can guarantee Raven Bellamy’s safety.”

He scowls. “I don’t make guarantees, Vincent. A man in my position doesn’t have to.”

“Then I’ll get twenty-four-seven security on her.”

He laughs at that one. And it’s a serpentine laugh, as if it’s coming from the throat of a rattler. “You think there’s anyone you can get who I can’t pay off?”

I draw a breath and let it out slowly, forcing the anger curling at the back of my neck to dissipate to the point where I can at least speak calmly.

“She’s been through hell. She wants to start a nonprofit foundation for blood cancer research. Let her have that. Let her have her life.”

A small grin cracks across his face. “That, dear grandson,” he says, “depends on you.”